


Black Jelly Beans, Actually

by hoosierbitch



Series: transvengers [2]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Awesome First Date Ideas, Awkward Flirting, Coming Out, F/M, Jelly Beans, M/M, Making Out, Other, Transgender, transvengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:49:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3732919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoosierbitch/pseuds/hoosierbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The trans!Peter/Deadpool + Clint Barton & Aunt May fic that you didn't know you needed. </p><p> <br/><i>A bright white envelope had been mixed in with his chemistry homework (which was now covered in doodles of Beetle Bailey). Wade had scrawled ‘Parker’ on the front the envelope in pink gel pen. Inside was a Hallmark card which said, ‘Congratulations! It’s a GIRL!’</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Jelly Beans, Actually

**Author's Note:**

> IDEK bro. 
> 
> Thanks to Shadowen for the beta, and for putting up with me while I wrote this.
> 
> See end notes for language warning and a note about pronouns.

Peter was sitting on a rooftop making a mental pros and cons list of who to come out to first (currently a three-way tie between Aunt May, Mary Jane, and Captain America) when Wade Wilson popped up beside him and said seriously, “We need to talk.”

Deadpool’s presence was not in and of itself a surprise. He’d been showing up unexpectedly for months to steal Peter’s homework and give it back with every question incorrectly answered, eat Peter’s food, pontificate on the benefits of owning sea monkeys, or occasionally help fight bad guys. He just didn’t usually sound _serious_. “What’s wrong? Did you accidentally eat caramelized onions again? Or meet a cute puppy?”

“Yes to both,” Wade answered. “But I also…” He held up Peter’s backpack, which had gone missing the day before. “I’m not saying I was snooping, but I _was_ looking through your belongings without permission, and—”

Peter snatched the bag from Wade’s hands and took off.

He and Wade had spent dozens of nights playing tag on patrol before, but they’d never raced; he wasn’t sure he could outrun him. It didn’t matter because Wade didn’t follow.

When Peter got home he locked the door to his room and unzipped the backpack. The copy of ‘Trans Bodies, Trans Selves’ that he’d stolen from the library was there, its cover torn off and its pages stuffed full with bookmarks. The mascara and lipstick he’d shoplifted were still mixed with his mess of pens.

He couldn’t stop himself from shaking. This felt worse than the times Mary Jane and Harry had almost stumbled on his Spider-Man identity. He felt twisted, and ashamed, and vulnerable.

When his legs gave out, he sat down on the bed, and the contents of the bag shifted. A bright white envelope had been mixed in with his chemistry homework (which was now covered in doodles of Beetle Bailey). Wade had scrawled ‘Parker’ on the front the envelope in pink gel pen. Inside was a Hallmark card which said, ‘Congratulations! It’s a GIRL!’

*

Deadpool didn’t show up again for nearly a month, during which time Peter’s Spidey-senses were on high-alert. He slept poorly when he slept at all. He snapped at Harry and Mary Jane. He yelled at Aunt May, which left him feeling absolutely wretched, despite her assurances that she accepted his apology muffins.

He hadn’t realized how little he actually knew about Deadpool. He knew that his real name was Wade Wilson, that he liked everything but onions on pizza, that he had a twitter account to campaign against cruelty to the Slow Loris, and that if anyone other than Peter was around, he couldn’t stay silent for more than three seconds.

But he didn’t know where Wade lived or how to get in touch with him.

So Peter waited, his secret growing heavier with every breath he took.

*

He was standing on one of three buildings downtown that didn’t offer any good jumping-off points, trying to decide whether to climb down the outside of the building or take the elevator, when Wade showed up holding two boxes of pizza

“Long time no see,” Peter said, trying to get his heart to stop pounding.

“I’ve been busy.”

“You weren’t avoiding me?” Peter took his mask off and grabbed a slice with a shaky hand.

“Why would I avoid you?” Wade asked, pulling up just the bottom of his mask to stuff an entire piece of pizza in his mouth at once.

“Because of the whole, you know…” Peter gestured down at himself. The costume really left nothing to the imagination. The spider bite had robbed him of any soft flesh that he’d once had. He was all lean muscle. No curves to speak of. No hips. No chest. Just long, rangy limbs, big feet, knobby knees.

“Oh, the boy thing?” Wade asked, his mouth full.

Peter, who usually thought of it as the _girl_ thing, blinked at him. “Yeah.”

“Is it a secret?”

“Yes!”

“Okay,” Wade said.

Peter shifted his weight from foot to foot, watching Wade pick onions off his pizza and put them on Peter’s. “How do I know you won’t tell anyone?”

The full weight of Wade’s gaze fell on Peter like a net threatening to catch him. Then Wade reached up, grabbed the bottom of his own mask, and peeled it the rest of the way off his face.

Peter knew it would be bad. He’d seen the bottom half of Wade’s face enough times that he thought he’d gotten used to the ravaged skin. All together though, it was…horrific. He looked like a burn victim who’d caught the plague. As Peter watched, patches of skin healed, becoming pink and soft, only to be torn apart a moment later.

He didn’t hide his revulsion well enough.

Wade turned away and said, “Now we both have leverage.”

Peter grabbed Wade’s wrist before he could pull the mask back on. Wade went still and didn’t move even as Peter slipped in front of him and stared at his face again.

“You have a nice nose,” he said finally. It was straight and narrow, with wide nostrils, a notch in the middle that only showed every-so-often as his face shifted. “And—and your eyes—”

He dropped his hold on Wade’s wrist when he realized he’d been staring into the man’s eyes for a socially-unacceptable length of time.

Wade just said, “Oh,” and then stopped talking.

They sat on top of the roof and ate pizza until the sun rose. Before they parted, Wade looked like he was about to say something. Instead, he put his mask back on and left Peter with a stern warning to recycle the pizza boxes on his way to the elevator.

*

The first time Peter came out on his own was to Mary Jane. His relationship with her had morphed over the years from a superficial crush into bone-deep friendship. Lately it had been weakened by a jealousy that Peter felt helpless to stop. He’d always liked the way MJ looked, but lately he couldn’t even look at her without a bitter taste filling his mouth. She had a closet full of heels and cute shoes, and she put highlights in her hair and touched up her make-up between classes.

She woke up every morning and looked in the mirror and saw what she expected to see. Peter had to make a conscious decision to try to bring more of that into his own life, instead of hating Mary Jane for having it in hers.

“I’ve brought you here under false pretenses,” he said, hunching over the sticky diner table, keeping his voice down. He’d ensured her attendance by promising her compromising pictures of Principal Coulson making out with Hawkeye. (The fact that those pictures actually existed was beside the point.)

She raised an eyebrow. “Did you bring me here to kill me?”

“What? No! Why do people always ask that? Do I give off a murder-y vibe?”

“Not usually. Right now you’re giving off a very nervous vibe. What’s going on?”

“I’m—” He took a deep breath and tried to collect himself. Then he let the breath out in a frustrated groan.

“Am I supposed to guess?”

“No, I’m—I’m going to say it.” He almost said, _I am Spider-Man,_ because that would actually be easier. “I’m transgender.” The word seemed clumsy and clinical. (Peter remembered the first time he’d heard the word and realized what it meant. It had shaken him to his core and then filled him with stubborn hope.)

“Oh,” MJ said, her eyes huge. She stared intently at his face, as if his features might have changed between one word and the next. Like he wasn’t the same person she’d known for over a decade. Maybe he wasn’t. “I—wow. Thank you for telling me. I know it—this can’t have been easy.” She searched for more words, but then fell silent. She reached across the table and put her hands over his. Her fingernails were done in a light, perfect purple. “This is really important to you?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s going to make you happier?”

He wondered if she’d been searching his face more for secrets than for new signs of femininity. He wondered how much of his unhappiness she’d seen, and for how long. “Yeah. I think it will. You’re actually the first person I’ve told,” he said, shifting his hands so that their fingers were tangled up together. He could pretend that her fingers were his; that it was his fingers that looked pretty instead of scraped-up.

“Wow,” she said again. “So are you—is it okay if I ask questions?”

“Sure,” he said, his frantic heartbeat beginning to slow down. “Go ahead.”

“This is really dumb,” she warned. “But what does transgender mean for you, exactly? You are a boy, right? Or biologically, at least?”

“I have a penis,” he said drily. The internet had prepared him for the most common responses. (It had prepared him for the worst. But this was MJ; he should have known to expect better.) “I was born male. This body,” he gestured at himself, “is male.”

“But you’re not,” she said, eyes narrowed in concentration.

“No,” he said, feeling like he was floating.

“Are you going to change? What’s it called—transition?”

“I don’t know. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I just—” He licked his lips and tried to put his feelings into words. “I don’t know exactly what’s going to make it feel right.”

“Okay. Should I be calling you something else?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like—Peter is a really masculine name,” she said apologetically. “Do you have a different name in mind? Is that even something you want?”

He blinked and drew his hands back. Folded them in his lap. “I don’t know.” He hadn’t decided that yet.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Sorry. You know I don’t mean to push.” She was a journalist through and through. It meant she believed him—she always knew if he was lying—but she could also see how much she didn’t yet know. “What can I do?”

He shrugged. “Maybe—um.” For once, she didn’t try to fill his silence. “Could you paint my toenails?”

A smile blossomed on her face. “Absolutely.”

*

“Hey,” Peter said, throwing his backpack at Wade a bit too hard. “You have my permission to go through my things.”

“Okay,” Wade said, holding the bag in front of him like he’d never seen it before. “Do you have jelly beans in here?”

“What? No.”

“Starburst jelly beans?”

“How are those different from other jelly beans? Don’t answer that; I know you have many, many reasons—”

“I do,” Wade interrupted in an earnest voice.

“But that is not important right now. Just…look through the bag, will you?”

“Not important,” Wade muttered to himself, unzipping the bag. “Like there’s no difference between Starburst jelly beans and Jelly Belly jelly beans.” He rifled through the textbooks, poked the laptop, and held up each and every pen and pencil up to the light. “I bet she doesn’t even like black jelly beans. _Heathen._ ” He examined and discarded the lipstick, mascara, eyeshadow, and nail polish with the same consideration that he gave to an empty gum wrapper.

“Did you—did you call me ‘she’?”

“Maybe,” Wade said, shrugging and reorganizing everything in the bag by color. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“But…you did. You did call me that.”

Wade blinked at him. _Her._ Peter. “My preferred pronouns are he and him,” Wade said. “I looked it up on Tumblr.” He held out the backpack. “What are yours?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said faintly. He’d been expecting the make-up in the bag to be the shocker of the night. He should have known better than to have any expectations where Wade was involved.

“You let me know,” Wade said, standing up and patting Peter on the head. “Also, if you want to eat ice cream and braid each other’s hair and watch ‘Grease’ and have pillow fights, call me. Or if you want to blow things up. Or buy jelly beans.” His hand was still in Peter’s hair and his little finger was brushing against Peter’s ear. Peter realized he wasn’t breathing. When he took a shaky breath, Wade whispered, “Kodak moment,” and jumped off the building.

*

A week later Wade walked into Peter’s dining room in the middle of dinner and yelled, “I refuse to become your fag hag!”

Aunt May looked from Peter to Wade (who had his mask on, and also two swords slung behind his back, and brought with him the distinct stench of sulfur), then back to the mashed potatoes on her plate. “That’s nice, dear,” she said. “Would you like some iced tea?”

Wade paused for a moment, then struck a heroic pose, one arm in the air and a leg braced on an empty chair. “My sexuality is not non-threatening!”

Aunt May frowned. “I don’t think I like the sound of that.”

Wade froze in place. “I want to be a candidate for romantic lead?”

“Better,” Aunt May said. “Now tell me why we’re supposed to care.”

“You should care because—” Wade looked at Peter, then turned in a complete circle and said, “Because I love you, Peter’s Aunt May. I have the hots for you. You burst my bubbles. You flip my pancakes. You roast my cashews. And salt them. And sell them on the street from a little cart. A cart of _love_.”

And on that note, he left the room.

Wade sure did know how to make an exit.

“I think we need to talk,” Aunt May said, pushing her plate back.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I think we do.”

*

“You can’t do that again,” Peter said. He’d gone to sit on top of the lit up ‘A’ on the Avenger’s Tower. He usually didn’t have to wait long before Wade or Clint Barton—or both—showed up. This time it was Wade.

“I promise never to hit on you in front of your aunt again,” Wade said. “Or hit on your aunt in front of you. Either way: no hitting.”

“That’s not actually what I meant.” He could feel his cheeks heating up. “The, uh—the terrible romantic proclamations were—okay.” He wished the giant ‘A’ would swallow him whole. Which was a terrible thing to wish for, since that had almost happened a couple of months ago, and it had been awful. “But you don’t get to force me to come out. I get to do that on my own time.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“You said you’d keep it a secret. You even—you showed me what’s under your mask. Leverage, remember?”

“Right,” Wade said, nodding to himself. Then he sat down and took a deep breath. “Before we take our storyline any farther, I should give you my character bio.”

He looked at Peter, who pointed into the sky. “Does the author approve?” Peter asked. This quirk, at least, Peter knew about already.

“She thinks it’s time. So—you know that I heal. Which is good, because I get shot all the time. I really should cut down on that. The reason it doesn’t kill me is because my cells undergo constant regeneration. Constant change.” Wade’s mask, lit up by the blue light, made him look like a hologram. Like he’d disappear if Peter tried to touch him. “The problem is that it doesn’t just make me look like Freddy Krueger with a face peel, but that it’s happening on the inside too. My brain doesn’t—doesn’t settle. It tries to fix itself even if nothing’s wrong. Although there is actually a lot wrong. With me. I’m not exactly a catch.”

“We make a good pair, then. I’m part spider, all nerd, and a tranny to boot.”

“To me, you are perfect,” Wade said.

Peter’s breath caught in his throat. Then he mentally kicked himself. “To me, you are quoting ‘Love, Actually.’”

“I couldn’t think of a better way to say it,” Wade said with a shrug. “I’ve actually been planning this for a while. I had a write-in poll. The runners-up were: To me, you are the grand canyon of Spider-People. Two me, one you. To me, you are an all-you-can eat Chimichanga buffet. To me, you—”

It was Peter’s first real kiss. And even though Wade was wearing his mask, and Peter accidentally shot webs all over them when Wade’s hand curled tentatively around his neck, it was perfect.

*

“I would like to take you on a date,” Wade said, hanging upside down from Peter’s ceiling. He was wearing a business suit over his costume. It looked surprisingly nice on him. “We could go bowling, or get milkshakes at a quaint diner, or visit a psychic, or attend a local film festival.”

Peter stared.

“I asked for advice from the Google. And JARVIS. And Clint Barton. And Namor. And—”

“You would be the worst spy in the entire world.”

Wade detached himself from the ceiling and sat on Peter’s desk. “Or, would I be the _best_ spy?”

“I’m pretty sure worst.”

“That may or may not be one-hundred percent accurate. So: aquarium? Starlit picnic? Water park? Spa night? Cooking class? Competitive pillow fort-ing? Putt-putt golf? Virtual haunted house?”

“How about…” Peter tried to imagine Wade doing any of those things. It was surprisingly easy. “How about yes.”

“Yes to…?”

“Dates. Plural. You made the list, I’ll check items off as we go. But I do have one condition.”

“I promise to leave your virtue intact.”

“No, that’s not—you don’t—that is so not what I was going to say. And also maybe not what I want you to do.”

Wade leered.

“I’ll do any of those dates with you, if you’ll promise not to wear the mask.”

Wade was gone before Peter knew what was happening.

*

“Peter,” Aunt May hollered up the stairs. “You have a visitor!”

Peter grabbed the Taser that Natasha had given him for his last birthday and tromped down the stairs. The front door was wide open, but it took him a while to figure out who it was who was fidgeting on their front steps. It was Wade, wearing the same suit he’d worn when the day before when he asked Peter out. Only this time, there was no red and black spandex. There was just unblemished skin. His face was smooth and handsome, with dark eyes and broad lips and perfect hair.

“I want to take you on dates in the daytime,” Wade said, holding out a bouquet of nettles. “Around other people. And I don’t want them to stare at me because I look like a monster. I want them to look at us because they ship us so hard that they hit an iceberg. I asked Tony to put together a masker that will make me look like a person, and, tada!”

“You’re always a person,” Peter said softly. 

“A person who looks like week-old pizza getting microwaved.”

“Wade—”

“If we go on dates at night, I won’t wear the masker until you ask me to.”

“ _If_ I ask you to.”

“You will.”

“We’ll see. As far as today goes, just let me put my Taser away and grab my wallet. And, uh, Wade?”

“Yes, Pumpkin Seed?”

“My preferred pronouns are ‘she’ and ‘her.’”

“You did the Tumblr,” Wade said wisely.

“I did some introspection.”

“Same thing. Now hurry up, I made us appointments with eight different psychics, and five of them told me we were going to be late and I wouldn’t get my deposit back.”

*

On their first date, Wade asked every psychic if they could give Professor Trelawney a bottle of cooking sherry for him. When it was Peter’s turn, she put on the saddest face she could muster and asked after the fate of her non-existent dog. When Wade brought her home, he went in for a goodnight kiss. Peter drew back quickly. The first time they’d kissed, Wade had been wearing his mask, but it hadn’t felt as weird as this. “I want to kiss you,” Peter said. “Not—” She couldn’t think of what to say. Wade just nodded and squeezed her hand before he left. 

On their second date, they went to a diner that was so dark and confusing that their booth was not only hidden from prying eyes, but also from their waitress. It took them three hours to get their order taken and brought to their table. Wade turned the masker off once their appetizers arrived, and didn’t turn it back on until the waitress finally remembered to bring them their check.

On their third date, they went to the aquarium. Peter put mousse in her hair and wore lip gloss. Wade called her pretty and held her hand without putting on his gloves. They tried unsuccessfully to steal the pygmy seahorses.

On their fourth date, Peter put on a sundress that MJ helped her picked out, and she and Wade had a picnic on the roof at two in the morning. She felt awkward, but even though she looked more like a boy in a dress than she looked like a girl, Wade didn’t seem to mind. He stared at her shoulders, her arms, her bare feet, her hands. They gazed at the stars for a while, trying to find as many Looney Tunes character constellations as they could, until Peter pulled Wade into a kiss. Feeling brave, she ran her hands over his shoulders, the muscles in his back, his flexing biceps. Wade shook slightly under her touch. When she whispered, “Touch me,” he put careful hands on her hips and kissed the curve of her neck, and looked at her like she was beautiful.

On their fifth date, Wade came over for dinner. Aunt May interrogated Wade so skillfully that Peter thought seriously about recommending her to Coulson for use in questioning. Wade gorged himself on the food, answered Aunt May’s questions with an honesty that left Peter breathless, and insisted on doing the dishes. He left his mask and masker in Peter’s room the entire time.

*

A week after Peter officially introduced Wade to Aunt May, she came home to find Clint Barton in the living room, throwing darts at Wade.

“Hi, Almond Bunches of Garfunkel!” Wade said, bouncing over to her while picking darts out of his stomach.

“Hi,” Peter said, dropping her backpack by the door. “Uh. And, uh. Hi, Hawkeye?”

Clint raised a hand and waved. His middle finger was entirely wrapped in purple Band-Aids. She honestly wasn’t sure if it was Wade’s idea of a joke, or if Clint had somehow injured the entirety of his middle finger without getting so much as a scratch on the rest of his hand. Both seemed equally likely.

“Hey, Spidey,” Clint said. “You have a lovely home.” It was more question than statement. They smiled at each other with matching awkwardness.

“It’s so nice to have you all here together,” Wade said, clutching his hands to his chest and beaming at them. “This is my favorite crossover yet.”

Aunt May, her face a study in disappointment, came to stand in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “Wade, if you’d told me we were having guests, I’d have made some refreshments. Next time, put a post-it on the fridge.”

“Sorry, Aunt May,” Wade said, staring contritely at the darts in his hand.

Clint looked at Aunt May and his eyes got huge. “Wait a minute. Are—are you the one who makes the banana bread?” The way Clint said it, ‘banana bread’ became a holy object worthy of worship.

“I think I sent over some loaves a while ago with Peter. She—he did share the bread, didn’t he?”

Clint nodded fervently, still looked at Aunt May with a devotion he usually reserved for Coulson in a Tac suit. “It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“Not that anyone else on the team would know,” Peter cut in, “because _someone_ stole it all and then disappeared in the vents for two days.”

Clint shot a glare at her, and Wade nudged her shoulder. “Bro code, dude. Respect it.”

“We are not bros!” Peter protested.

“Just because you’re a girl doesn’t mean you can’t be bros,” said Aunt May diplomatically. Then she froze. Peter’s eyes got big. Wade said, “Hashtag Barney Stinson.”

“Huh,” Clint said, looking at Peter. “Hey Wade, is this why we spend eight hours looking through those congratulations Hallmark cards? Because Coulson was worried you’d gotten yourself pregnant.”

“I’m _not a bro_ ,” Peter said faintly, trying to figure out if she was dreaming or awake.

“You’d make a wonderful bro, Sweetie,” said Aunt May. “Now, Mr. Barton, I’m afraid I don’t have any more bananas, but I have all the fixings for zucchini bread. Would you like to help me in the kitchen?”

Clint’s mouth fell open. It was an awkwardly long time before he babbled an affirmative answer and followed Aunt May out of the room, completely ignoring Peter and the recent revelation.

“That—that went unexpectedly smoothly,” Peter said, giving herself a subtle pinch. “And not that I don’t like Clint,” she added, when she heard his laugh ring out from the kitchen, “but _why did you bring him to my house_?”

Wade looked confused. “You introduced me to Aunt May,” he said, like that was somehow an adequate answer. 

“And? Are you and Barton related? Oh, god. _Are_ you? That would explain so much.”

“We are bros by choice,” Wade said solemnly, “not blood. I brought him here because—because—well, I got to meet the most awesome person that you know, so I thought I should return the favor. Barton’s the best person I know.” He tilted his head. “Although he’s only my second-favorite Hawkeye.” His fidgeting—which was an ever-present feature—grew into full-body twitching. “This…it matters. Me. You. And our…” He waved around the room, and then pointed to a specific spot on the ceiling. “Our viewing audience.”

“Oh,” Peter said, giving their invisible audience a wave.

“Did I do this wrong? I couldn’t figure out what Google keywords to use when I looked for advice. It just pulled up a lot of porn. Don’t worry, I bookmarked the good stuff.”

Peter smiled. “Google or not, you got this one exactly right, bro.”

Wade gave a huge sigh of relief and plopped down on the couch like he’d suddenly gone boneless. “Also,” he said, “we’re going to get zucchini bread. It’s a win-win-win-win.”

Peter sat down on the couch and Wade reached for her hand. Peter, whose nails were painted in a clear polish, twined her fingers with Wade’s and curled up against his side.

*

“Pete,” Clint said solemnly, joining her in the living room. “We need to talk.”

“Do you live here now?”

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“And don’t call me Pete,” she added, shutting her laptop so quickly she may have shattered the screen. (She’s been thinking about ‘Petra.’ Or maybe someone radically different. June. Rose. Florence? Possible something gender-neutral. Jordan. Francis. Pat. She’s got a list.)

“This is important,” Clint said. He was covered in flour, his hair was sticking up on the side, and he smelled like vanilla. Peter could hear Aunt May humming happily in the kitchen. “I think I’m going to adopt your aunt. Or she’s going to adopt me. Definitely one or the other.”

Peter blinked. “That’s. That’s not how it works.”

“I know this is hard,” Clint said, patting her shoulder. “It’ll take time to come to terms with it. But you should know that just because we love each other, doesn’t mean we love you any less.”

Peter was beginning to suspect that Clint Barton was crazier than Wade.

“Clint!” Aunt May called from the kitchen. “The new pot of coffee’s ready!”

Clint turned back to Peter. “You might want to get used to calling me Mom, kiddo, because I’m going to marry your aunt.” 

*

When she got home the next day she found Wade sitting in the middle of her bed, surrounded by game pieces, switching out the Monopoly money for real cash. They’d spent the previous night going through her list of names, eating different kinds of M&Ms and making out.

When she made her decision, Wade had reached into some secret pocket on his suit (seriously, it was like Mary Poppins’s bag), and pulled out a sticker that said, ‘Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my Father. Prepare to die.’ Wade crossed out ‘Inigo Montoya’ and she wrote in ‘Petra.’

“Do you want to change your name?” Wade asked, glaring at a handful of two-dollar bills.

“We just had that conversation,” she said. “Are you having another memory glitch?”

“No, I remember last night. I also remember Wolverine becoming a competitive Latin ballroom dancer. And Thor being a woman. Alternate universes are fun.”

“Then what’s the problem?” she asked, dropping her backpack on the floor with a thud, “I think Petra is a good—”

“While I disagree with that on all counts, I meant Spider-Man.” Petra paused in the middle of kicking off her shoes. She stayed quiet as she changed out of her jeans and t-shirt and into pair of loose yoga pants and an ‘I <3 Namor’ tank top that Wade had given her for President’s Day.

“I don’t think so,” she said quietly.

“Is that just because Spider-Woman is taken? And Spider-Girl is a bit patronizing? Because you could always go with Spider-Gal. Or you could take out Natasha and go with Black Widow.”

“Take out Natasha,” Petra said faintly. “Do you want me to die?”

“No,” Wade said, closing his wallet, which now held a rainbow of fake money. “I want you to be happy.”

Petra sat down on the bed behind Wade and rested her cheek on his shoulder. “It’s already a mask I put on,” she explained. “A role I play. And now—now that I’m not pretending to be someone else in the rest of my life, it doesn’t matter so much.”

She could feel his muscles move as he nodded. “I’m not saying I don’t respect your decisions,” he said slowly, “but I think you’re making a mistake.” She stiffened and began to pull away. Wade grabbed the arm she’d started to wrap around his waist and twisted to pull her on top of him. “You should have gone with Wilhelmina,” he said, staring into her eyes. “It has so much more character than ‘Petra.’ Promise me you’ll think about it?”

Feeling brave, she kissed him. Eventually, he stopped calling her Wilhelmina, and started calling her ‘Pet’ in a soft, surprised voice that drew shivers up and down her spine.

*

Her wardrobe grew slowly. Her skinny jeans got skinnier, she accumulated scarves at an inexplicably fast rate, and she started buying t-shirts and baggy sweaters that hung from her shoulders and gathered at her waist, giving her the illusion of hips. She even had a small collection of skirts and matching leggings. She was finding out what her new ‘comfortable’ was. Usually it involved long necklaces, chunky bracelets, clip-on earrings, and motorcycle boots. Mary Jane had dubbed her aesthetic ‘lazy hipster.’

She only had two dresses so far. Dresses felt like a bigger deal somehow. Like she was playing pretend. The first dress she’d gotten was the sundress she’d worn on her starlight picnic with Wade.

The second one she had yet to wear outside of the house. Aunt May had sewn for her, and most days Petra felt like it had gotten into her closet by accident. It showed off her collarbones and billowed around her arms, gathered at the waist before falling in soft swirls around her legs. It was beautiful, and when she wore it, she felt beautiful too.

That’s what she wore when she decided to come out to the Avengers: a handmade gauzy dress, black motorcycle boots, dark purple nail polish, and a pendant on a delicate chain that Wade had given her for their forty-third day anniversary. It was just a silver circle, nothing fancy, no twists or inscription. Just a simple necklace that Wade had put on her, standing behind her to fasten the clasp. He’d run his fingers under the chain to make sure it lay comfortably on her skin and then kissed the back of her neck.

It was better armor than her actual armor.

Captain ‘Call Me Steve’ America was the first one who saw her. She was in the Tower’s main kitchen, the one with both a popcorn and cotton candy machines, putting three loaves of banana bread on the counter.

She heard his heavy steps and froze where she was standing. She had planned on calling everyone together at once, and then offering the banana bread as a bribe.

“Miss,” Steve said, sounding confused and wary. “What are you—” She turned around and his voice faltered. “Peter?”

“Yeah?” She fought down the urge to jump out a window.

“You’re—you look—”

“Nice?” she said. “Pretty? A bit tired?” She tried to smile. “Like a girl?”

“All of the above,” he said. “Um. Are you dressing up for something?”

“Kind of?” She was a bit dressed up. She felt like she’d shown up at a party to find she was embarrassingly over-dressed. She wanted to sneak into a bathroom to change. “But not really.”

“Okay,” he said slowly.

A second later Clint Barton barreled into the room. “I smell banana bread!” he bellowed, racing to the counter and grabbing a loaf, eyeing the other two with a calculating gaze.

“Aunt May said to tell you that she saved a loaf for you at the house.”

Clint, who had once explained his tendency to hoard food over dinner with Petra, Wade, and Aunt May, looked at Petra like she was the second coming. “You are my favorite niece.”

“I am so confused,” Steve said faintly.

“It makes perfect sense,” Coulson said, walking in through the same door that Clint had used. “Deadpool gave me a diagram and everything. Apparently Deadpool and Peter’s Aunt May are rivals for Clint’s affections.” Coulson saw Petra—and what she was wearing—and stopped in his tracks.

“I’m guessing Wade left me off the diagram,” Petra said, inching towards the window.

“No, you were on the diagram. There were many hearts, flowers, and tiny bombs drawn around your name.” He smiled at her, his whole face softening. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I—I need to tell you guys something.” She looked to Clint for help, only to discover that he was tucking a second loaf of bread into his quiver. “You are a terrible human being. Put that back.”

He glared at her. “Bro code, dudette,” he said, grumpily putting the bread back.

“I am _so confused_ ,” Steve said. He sounded more bemused than frustrated. Coulson shrugged and went to join Clint.

“Can we maybe get the rest of the team together?” she asked. “I don’t really want to do this more than once.”

“But then we have to _share the bread_ ,” Clint whined. Coulson smacked him on the back of the head.

Clint had accepted Petra with a matter-of-fact simplicity that she didn’t think she’d ever understand (or stop appreciating). Occasionally it meant he forgot that other people could react in drastically different ways.

She waited nervously while JARVIS called everyone into the kitchen. She was unexpectedly grateful that Coulson was there, since he stopped Tony from running his mouth with one of his _looks_ , settled Steve and Bruce around the table with slices of buttered bread, smiled when Natasha came in and complimented Petra on her necklace. When they were all gathered Coulson leaned against the counter that Clint was sitting on and gestured around the room, signaling the beginning of the meeting.

Petra took a deep breath, smoothed her dress with sweaty hands, and squared her shoulders. “Hi,” she said, fighting the swooping sensation in her stomach. It felt like the first time she’d miscalculated mid-flight and realized she was about to reacquaint herself with gravity. Then she forced a smile and said. “My name is Petra. My preferred pronouns are ‘she’ and ‘her.’ I won’t be changing my call-sign to Spider-Girl, Spider-Gal, or Black Widow. Not that I could if I wanted to,” she added hastily, glancing at Natasha. “It was—I was—Wade,” she said. Natasha nodded understandably. “And, um. That’s about it.”

Steve was the first one to move. He stood and up walked over to her. He held out his hand and smiled when she shook it. His grip was just as warm and strong as it had been the first time they’d met. “It’s lovely to meet you, Petra.”

*

After the banana bread disappeared and she answered as many questions as she could handle, she slipped out an open window and settled on the bar in the neon ‘A,’ kicking her boots against the Plexiglas and staring up at the stars.

“Just so you’re aware,” Wade said, climbing down to join her, “I got you a coming out present.”

“What is it?”

“Two aquariums full of sea monkeys. They are all named Namor.”

“I would think less of you if they weren’t.” He smiled at her and peeled off his mask. “I got you a present too,” she said. He bounced in place as she took a bag out of her purse and handed it to him. “Black jelly beans,” she announced. “And not ones that came in a bag of just black jelly beans. These are jelly beans from a mixed bag that I picked out one-by-one.”

He stared at the bag, and then at her, adoration in his eyes. It was a long time before Wade moved. When he did, he leaned in and kissed her, as softly and sweetly as he had their very first time. But now there was no mask between them, and he tugged her lower lip between his teeth before he pulled away.

“Vanilla lip gloss,” he said. “I like it.” He held out his arm and she leaned against his side. She felt both old and young; like she had lived through her own lifetime and then someone else’s, only to come back here and start anew.

She took a deep breath. There was a weird feeling in her stomach. But not like before; not like she had mistimed a jump. She felt like she was on the edge of a roof, constellations of Looney Tunes above her head, wearing a pretty dress and shiny nail polish. “To me,” she said, “we are perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Derogatory language:**  
>  There is one use of the word 'tranny,' a character referring to themself in a self-deprecating manner. Deadpool uses the term 'fag-hag,' referring to himself. Thank you to the reader who pointed out that there should be a warning for these, I apologize for not including this when I first posted the story.
> 
>  **Pronouns:**  
>  When the story starts, the main character identifies as Peter and uses he/him pronouns. By the end, the main character identifies as Petra and uses she/her pronouns. The narrative/writing reflects this. This is an intentional choice on my part. Please take this into consideration if this could potentially be triggering for/offensive to you, and always feel free to message me if you have questions or would like clarification! 
> 
> The reason why the pronouns are the way they are: I wanted to show Petra wresting with the gender identity she was raised with, and the gradual (difficult) journey to finding and becoming comfortable with the gender identity that is hers. One thing that inspired this is a conversation I had a long time ago with a trans friend about how hard it was for him to start thinking in different pronouns (much less trying to get other people to use them!), and how good it felt for him when the pronoun usage became natural. 
> 
> I did a lot of research and reached out to people during this writing process, and continue to educate myself and attend workshops about gender creative/non-conforming youth and gender identity--but I am not an expert, nor am I a trans person. If I make mistakes, I am very sorry, and I appreciate it if you let me know so that I can fix them. Thank you to the reader who has already pointed out male pronouns where they shouldn't be, that has been fixed!


End file.
